


Defenders Phase Two

by LadyintheWalls



Series: Defenders [2]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Fist (TV), Jessica Jones (TV), Luke Cage (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:14:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24816679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyintheWalls/pseuds/LadyintheWalls
Summary: Something festers and stirs, unseen and unknown.
Relationships: Everett Ross/Stephen Strange, Luke Cage/Jessica Jones, Matt Murdock/Claire Temple
Series: Defenders [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1174064
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20





	1. Something Sinister

Chapter 1: Something Sinister 

  
  


Eddie Caine was exhausted. 

Only a half hour away for the shift to be over, then it was home at last. 

The final set of containers had been unloaded. He’d climbed down from the crane and started making his way back to the warehouse. 

Then he heard something. 

Looking around, calling out, no one was there. He kept going. 

There it was again. 

Barely daring to breathe for fear of missing the soft sounds, he ventured further along the new containers. Looking between the rows, perhaps it was some kid who somehow got lost. The more he strained to hear, the more it sounded like someone crying. 

But the sounds weren’t coming from between the rows. Upon closer inspection, he realized with dread the source. 

It was coming from inside one of the containers. 

“Jesus . . .” he muttered, then started banging on its side. “Hello! Can you hear me!” 

At first there was silence. Enough for him to doubt whether he’d heard anything at all. Then he started as frantic banging came from inside, along with muffled voices and ragged pleas. He couldn’t understand them. It didn’t even sound like English.

“It’s all right! I hear you!” he shouted, hoping they could understand him. “I’m getting help! We’ll get you out!”

He swung round, reaching for his walkie talkie and ready to run back to headquarters. 

He didn’t get far. 

He didn’t even feel the blade. 

It was quick. It was quiet. And Eddie Caine was dead. 

The body dropped to the ground. The cries from inside the container fell into a desperate silence. The figure clad in black sheathed a blood soaked blade, then spoke in a soft voice into a communication device. In seconds, two more figures arrived and the body was carried off. 

No more sounds came from the container for the rest of the night. 


	2. New Client

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jessica Jones is hired for a missing person's case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: This evening, Mrs. Caine will be played by the lovely Anna Deveare Smith.   
> https://tisch.nyu.edu/content/dam/tisch/app/Jeff%20Reidel%20Photograph.jpg.precrop.0,0,474,478.xjpeg.preset.square.jpeg

Chapter 2: New Client

Jessica stared at the picture between her fingers. A man standing next to a grill and smiling wide at the camera. Based on the baseball cap, the t-shirt and some blurry figures of kids running around a pool in the background, it looked like a family barbecue. She forced herself to look at the face of the man, biting her bottom lip anxiously.

Shit. He looked like a nice guy. 

“Five days now?” she asked, looking back up to the woman sitting on the chair across from her desk. 

The coffee she’d offered the potential client had long gone cold, left abandoned on the desk between them. The woman’s fingers clutched at her purse, knuckles whitening. Her face remained composed, though she wore her pain in earnest. Her gaze was intent and fierce. Jessica found she had trouble meeting her eyes. 

“No calls, no texts,” Mrs. Caine repeated. “They say he clocked out, and apparently there were some witnesses who saw him leave, others say they’re not sure. His friends, the guys I know, they told me flat out they did not see him leave that night. I’m more inclined to believe them.”

Jessica nodded, and pretended to look at the picture again to avoid those eyes. 

“I’ve got every hospital on speed dial,” her voice choked at this, but she kept going. “The police--they just keep telling me to wait and he’ll turn up.” 

There was an awkward pause that went on too long. Jessica could no longer suppress a sigh. Letting the picture drop from her fingers, she steeled herself for her next words. 

“Look, Mrs. Caine, I hate to say this but . . . Well, I’ve seen this kind of thing before, and . . . is there any way your husband could have--”

“No.”

The most definitive “no” Jessica had heard in some time. She didn’t dare say another word until the woman had finished. When she spoke, there was dignity in her voice and a quiet strength to her that Jessica felt disarmed. She was nothing like the whiny upper middle class wives she’d get who want their husbands or boyfriends or boy toys followed because they just know they’re cheating. She was nothing like the condescending douchebags who wanted blackmailable material recuperated from their mistresses’ apartments (which they themselves paid for). And nothing at all like the odd boss who’s sure his employees are stealing from him. 

This was a new kind of client. 

“I know what you’re going to say, miss Jones. It’s the same thing the police said. The same thing my boss said when I asked for leave. Same thing my kids are hearing from their classmates. Eddie is not that man. He is not the man to walk away from his family.”

Jessica’s eyes shifted quickly to the picture again. She could believe it, based on that smile. 

“Again, no offense, but I’ve heard that before too.” 

“I’m sure you have,” Mrs. Caine answered patiently. “But I know my husband. He is not that man.”

Jessica sighed. “Okay, well, I’m gonna be honest with you, I don’t usually do missing person cases. My resources are kinda limited.” 

“Yes, I’m aware of that, but I am desperate. And you’re not like any other PIs, miss Jones. Are you?”

The last part was rhetorical, and yet expectant at the same time. Jessica found herself nervously biting at her bottom lip. 

“I can pay--” the woman started reaching for the inside of her bag. 

“No, it’s--it’s not a money issue. You said you had kids?”

“Two. The oldest is in college, our youngest just started high school.” 

“Hmm,” Jessica hummed, in lieu of wanting to verbalize the words  _ God, this sucks.  _ “Okay, well, say he didn’t run off. If he hasn’t turned up in any hospital, you do realize there’s also a high chance that--” 

She purposely trailed off.  _ Don’t make me say it! _

She didn’t have to say it. 

“My children need closure, miss Jones,” Mrs. Caine answered in her cool voice. “ _ I _ need closure. Whatever that entails.”

She swallowed, harshly. Her eyes brimmed with tears, but none fell. Her composure remained. And it only took one more glance at the smiling man in the picture for Jess to make her decision. 

“Okay, I’ll take the case.” 


	3. For Hot Dogs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke comes across an interesting stranger with a vast appetite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we meet Danny! Now, the Danny in this fic is “played” by Finn Jones, but personality-wise he’s going to be modeled a bit more after his characterization in Ultimate Spider-Man as voiced by Greg Cipes.
> 
> Two other castings from the Netflix series: Harold Meechaum will be played by David Wenham and Alexandra Reid by the amazing Sigourney Weaver. 

  
  


Chapter 3: For Hot Dogs

The streets were busy that day. Kids were heading home after school. The pedestrian light had turned green and a small batch of chattering classmates were crossing when a white fancy shmancy car nearly barreled into them, braking just in time. The kids did have to run across to narrowly miss the bumper. 

“Fucking kids,” the driver growled into his phone, “nah, just some stupid kids. What were you saying?” 

His car suddenly jolted down then up, like a mini earthquake had struck. Every part of the machinery around him reverberated with the force. Looking up, there was a man standing next to his car, his hand still resting on the hood. 

“Hey, asshole! What’s your problem?!” the idiot yelled. It was only then his brain processed the information and realized the man had not just smacked his car. The man had  _ dented  _ his frickin’ car with his bare hand. Indeed there it was: a very clear imprint of a hand visible on his hood. 

“You--you gonna pay for that!” he lamely stated. The brain had still not quite processed the information all the way through. Otherwise he would have realized how stupid it was to say this to a man who just left a hand imprint on his car as if it were made of silly puddy. 

Said man walked up to the window, snatched the cellphone from his outstretched hand and pulverized it between long fingers. 

“It can wait, man,” Luke snapped the hashtag purposely. “There are schools around here.”

If it was possible to drain even more color from pasty white skin, it happened in that driver’s idiotic gaping expression. Luke turned on his heel and went on his way. He was pleased to hear the car stay put for quite some time, then drive off at the right speed.

It had not been a good day, so that little bit of pleasure was welcome. Luke had to admit relief the guy had not demanded recompense for his phone, or car for that matter. He wouldn’t be able to afford it. The renovation of the new location for his bar was not going well. He’d just spent the whole morning arguing with a combination of bureaucrats and tradespeople and plumbers and overseers, and their mothers too. He’d gotten nowhere with any of them. The simple truth was he was running out of budget and time. And now had no idea what to do. 

He was lost in these thoughts when he noticed the strange sight that had caught the attention of a small group of middle schoolers. A hot dog vendor was arguing heatedly with a scraggly looking guy, who was taking the larger man’s boisterousness a little too well. 

“You want HWHAT now?!” the vendor shouted. 

“I was wondering, my friend, since I do not carry American currency, if I could offer my humble services in exchange for food.”

“You want to work for me in exchange for a hot dog?”

“If that would be an agreeable exchange, friend,” the scraggly man shook a matt of dirty blond curls from bright blue eyes and gave the most frickin’ adorable smile. 

The middle schoolers watching the sight were mostly girls, and they giggled at this. Despite the guy’s haggard appearance, even Luke could see after a shower and a haircut, he’d look like he’d just walked off the pages of a teen idol magazine. 

But one person was still not charmed by those baby blues. 

“Get the hell out of here, man!” the vendor said annoyed. 

“I meant no offense, friend, it is just that I have not eaten in three days and I cannot tell you how long I’ve dreamt of this.” 

“Hot dogs? You been dreaming about hot dogs?”

“New York hot dogs, yes,” the smile grew wider. 

“This a joke? This one of those YouTube things?”

“Sorry, friend, I what?”

“Why you keep saying “friend”? What are you, John McCain?” 

“No, my name is Danny.” 

“Huh!?”

The girls continued to giggle as the exchange went on. Luke had also been laughing under his breath, feeling like he was watching the New York version of Who’s on First. But seeing how the vendor looked three seconds away from yanking those dirty blond curls and smashing pretty boy’s head repeatedly against the cart, Luke felt compelled to intervene. 

He walked up to the cart and pulled out his wallet. “Hey, I got you, man,” he patted hippie on the back, then addressed the vendor. “Give him a dog.” 

“Oh,” blond hippie looked genuinely surprised, then delighted at the offer. “Thank you so much, frien--” glancing at the vendor’s glare, he corrected his choice of word to “--sir.” 

“Luke. How hungry are ya, Danny?” The widening of eyes and practically salivating at the smells wafting from the cart were answer enough. “Make it two.” 

“You are so kind! I don’t have American dollars, but if I could compensate you with my services--” 

“No, no, you’re good.”

“I fully intend to pay you back--” the words faltered. Luke looked up to see hippie dude looking a little faint.

“You okay, man?” Luke asked, then caught the man as he stumbled forwards. “Whoa! Easy!” 

  
  


Jessica groaned audibly as she stomped her way back to her office. Why, why, WHY had she taken the missing person’s case?! She’d spent hours interviewing dock workers and groaning floor managers with no luck. She was about to head upstairs when she noticed Luke through the window of the empty bar. 

“Hey, Jess!” he greeted her. She just walked up to him and buried her face in his chest. “You okay?” 

She groaned. “New client. Husband missing. I just--” she emerged from between his pecs, “--I don’t know, felt for her.”

“Oh, babe,” he said softly and enveloped her in a hug. She nuzzled into his neck. 

“Can I ask you something?” she whispered. 

“Of course.” 

“Why is there a hobo sitting at the bar?” 

He turned around to see his new Hippie friend staring at them with wide eyes, his back hunched over the counter covered with hot dog wrappers, hot dog #9 clutched in his hands. 

“I’m Danny,” he said around a mouthful of bread and condiments, waving. 

“Hi, Danny. Who’s Danny?” Jessica glanced at Luke. 

“Ran into him on my errands. He wasn’t feeling so hot, so I thought he could rest here.”

“Hadn’t eaten or slept in three days, he was most kind,” the hippie chirped happily, wiping his condiment lathered mouth on his sleeve.

Jessica nodded indulgently, then lowered her voice to Luke. “So he followed you home and you fed him. You’re not going to ask me if you can keep him, are you?”

Luke smiled. “I’ll be up in a bit, then I want to hear about your client.” 

Her expression fell. “I don’t wanna talk about it. Just . . .” glancing at the strange man, “. . . bring some booze with you. I’ll pay for it.”

“Yeah, right. I’ll just add it to your invisible tab.” 

A quick kiss, then Jessica left. Luke watched her, concerned. Clearly something was weighing on her. When he turned, it was to see he was not the only one watching his girlfriend leave. 

The young man’s blue eyes practically glistened as he stared after her. Not in a disrespectful way, mind you. Not a cartoon wolf slobbering after a curvaceous dame. It could be better described as almost wonder. 

Luke still glared at him though. 

“She’s so beautiful . . .” Danny said, his voice as if in a dream. Then he realized he’d been staring and just how wrong that looked. “Sorry! There weren’t many women in the temple.” 

Luke laughed at the guy’s embarrassment, then sat down next to him again. Danny had been telling him-- in between hot dogs-- about a temple he’d been raised in. “Really? No women at all?”

“Well, in the city there were, yes,” Danny answered, his ears still burning red. “But I didn’t go there much. I grew up in the monks’ temple.”

“But born in New York, right? How long you been away?” 

“Fifteen years,” at this, the young man lost his bright demeanor and his tone became grim. “I was ten.” 

“Wow. What was the name of the place again?” 

“K’un-Lun,” the grim tone continued. 

“And you said it was in China?” Luke never heard of it. 

“Kinda,” a shrug. 

“Kinda? It’s either in China or it’s somewhere else.” 

“It’s . . . complicated.” Danny’s gaze went blank, as if remembering something. Then realizing he’d been quiet too long, he talked fast, clearly trying to change the subject. “You were telling me about your bar. It looks pretty ready to me.”

“Talk about complicated,” Luke answered, looking about the room and taking a mental inventory of all the things he still had to fix. “It’s a question of a bunch of permits and--well, you don’t wanna hear about all that. I don’t wanna talk about all that.” 

But Luke did end up talking about it, and going even more into detail into the hundred and one things he still needed to do before the opening. Whatever had been worrying the boy seemed to fade, and he suddenly looked too attentive at Luke. As if his new acquantaince’s problems were now infinitely more important than whatever had been worrying him. 

“If there is anything I could do--”

“You don’t have to pay me back, man,” Luke laughed, having already said this several times in the short time they’d met. “You need not apply. No services required, ha ha.” 

“Are you sure? It may be some time before I have money--”

“Hey, you looked like you could use a hand. I’ve been there. Happy to help,” Luke said, and he meant it. 

They talked for some time, though every conversation seemed to be an on-going dance to avoid talking about what was really on their minds. For Luke, concern for Jessica and the financial situation of his bar. For Danny . . . unknown. He tended to change the subject whenever it turned to his upbringing in the temple or his family. The scraggly youth was hard to read. One moment, his smile was infectious and genuine. Then a shadow would cross his features, and he’d become evasive and grim. In terms of his whole demeanor, he simultaneously seemed wise and sympathetic, then naive and oblivious. Regardless, Luke found himself liking him, and by the end of almost two hours, the two felt completely at ease with the other.

“Well, I should be going,” Danny suddenly announced, picking up his only belonging--an equally scraggly looking satchel. 

“You know where you’re going?” Luke asked, standing with him. “I mean, you got somewhere to stay?” 

“Yes, if all goes well.” 

“There’s a shelter on--” 

“I’ll be fine,” he cut Luke off. 

As Danny crossed the doors to the outside, Luke held out what was left of his pocket money. 

“Here.” 

“No, really!” Danny shook his hands. “It’s not necessary--”

“It’s no trouble, man. For hot dogs,” Luke smiled. 

The youth was about to argue, but probably realizing it would be futile, gave in. He took the offering and clutched the few bills in his hand as if it were a precious gift. 

“I fully intend to pay you back,” he said, as if he were making a vow. 

“How about when you’re back on your feet, come by for a drink,” Luke patted him on the shoulder (with his usual measured strength reserved for normies). 

They shook hands, only Danny enveloped Luke’s hand with both of his and squeezed. “You’re a good man,” he declared. 

Now it was Luke’s turn to feel embarrassed. Danny’s composure in that moment, his tone and the decisiveness of his statement--for some reason, it reminded Luke of Doctor Strange. 

“Take care of yourself, Danny.”

He watched the young man walk down the street and disappear round a corner. Luke locked up his empty bar, and filed the whole encounter under interesting one off moments. 

He’d also been sure to grab a bottle of single malt scotch (the good kind!) as he headed upstairs. 

  
  


Two days after Luke’s strange encounter, he and Jessica were enjoying a lazy morning after a late night. She was gulping down her coffee, glued to the TV in the bedroom, while Luke was balancing a bowl of cereal over a bunch of new bills on the kitchen counter. 

She was surfing through the news channels, as she usually did in the mornings in case anything of interest caught her eye. This time, she froze on one as a familiar face popped up. 

“Baaaabe?”

“Hmm?”

“Your hobo’s on the news.”

“What?” 

Luke came into the room and very nearly dropped his cereal. The TV showed a busy press conference, with three men in suits facing a sea of cameras and microphones. There was Danny, in between the two suits. He was clean, his hair trimmed and pressed though still long enough to clash with the very new suit. A suit that did not suit him at all. He looked very uncomfortable, yet trying hard to keep a full teethed smile at all the reporters. 

The disembodied voice of a reporter excitedly went on as the caption at the bottom of the screen read: Prodigal Son Returns!

“. . . as CEO Harold Mechaum has confirmed the mysterious claimant is in fact Daniel Rand, son and heir of the late Wendell Rand, co-founder of Rand Enterprises.”

Luke and Jessica turned to look at each other. The peppy voice pepped on. 

“Ten years ago, due to a mechanical malfunction in their private plane, Rand and his wife tragically lost their lives. After an extensive search their bodies were recovered, but there was no sign of their young son who had been traveling with them. Daniel was presumed dead and an empty casket buried alongside his parents in Trinity Cemetery. Though he has not been available for questions about his ordeal, DNA tests plus statements from Mechaum and his family have confirmed the young heir’s identity. Mechaum and his son, Ward, are both here to officially welcome New York’s prodigal son back to the land of the living.”

The camera focused on the three men. The oldest of the three-- Harold Mechaum according to the news channels’s captions-- walked up to the podium and addressed the press crowd like a king addressing his meager subjects. There was inherent condescension in his voice, and on his face was plastered a plastic smile for the cameras. 

“Wendell and I, we founded this company together and we raised our families together. He was like a brother to me. No, he  _ was  _ my brother.” 

The suit paused purposefully, dramatically holding a fist to his lips as if he was fighting back tears. Even through the screen, Jessica could see those eyes were pretty dry. 

“We once promised that if anything happened to one of us, the other would look after their family.” At this, he turned to look back at Danny, but his mouth remained close to the microphone. “I can’t tell you what it means that I’ll be able to keep that promise now. So, Danny . . .” 

He held out his arm, beckoning. Danny awkwardly stepped closer and the arm wrapped around his shoulders.

“ _ Son _ . . .” Mechaum emphasized the word into the microphone, the plastic smile growing wider. “Welcome home!”

And he hugged Danny. It was only for a quick second, anyone would have missed it, but Jessica caught a grimace of disgust cross the young man’s face as he was slammed into the other guy’s shoulder. Then he corrected his expression and went on smiling awkwardly at the cameras, stiffly returning the embrace. 

“Ooh, he did not like that. Did you see!” she pointed at the screen. “Can’t blame him, that guy looks sketch as hell.” 

“This is so weird,” was all Luke could say, shaking his head. 

The three men continued to wave at the cameras as the reporter gave her final piece on the event.

“. . . the Rand heir is said to be worth approximately $150 million dollars . . .”

This time the cereal bowl did fall to the ground. Both jaws dropped just as fast. After a moment of stunned silence, Jessica turned to her shocked love and pointed at the screen pointedly. 

“You gave  _ him _ money?!?!” she practically screamed. 

“Yeah . . .” Luke mumbled in a daze. “For hot dogs.” 

  
  


Some ways away, at the same time, the televised event was viewed by another. In a pristine vast apartment uptown, so pristine in fact one would doubt anyone actually lived there. The whole decor looked more like a museum, with a collection of ancient artifacts from various historical eras and expensive rare art pieces that would have made any curator green with envy. 

Someone did live there though. Someone who felt at home surrounded by the beautiful, by the rare and the expensive, by the ancient. 

Alexandra Reid was beautiful. Every movement careful and graceful. The robe she wore was fine, its material costly, and it draped about her slim figure perfectly. Her piercing black eyes were fixated on the screen. She too caught the second-long grimace on the Rand boy when Mechaum embraced him. A knowing smile danced on her long lips. In quick consecutive movements, she turned off the television-- a device she barely used in fact, finding it all so odious-- and moved towards her high windows. It was a stunning sight, though she was already bored by it. Her slow purposeful movements were conducting very mundane tasks, like using the remote and her cellphone, yet she made it look like a dance. 

She took her phone, dialed, then held it up to her ear. Her gaze was towards the majestic view, yet she was actually looking at herself in the reflection of the glass.

On the other line, someone answered. 

“It’s me,” Alexandra spoke in a voice that matched her graceful movements. “We must meet.” Her black eyes looked again to the now empty screen while the person on the other end posed a question. 

“No, it’s good news,” she answered. “The Iron Fist is in New York. He has come to us.” 

  
  


Notes: Other players. Harold Mechaum will be played by David Wenham and Alexandra Reid by the awesome Sigourney Weaver. 


End file.
